Tatiana crossed the threshold of the morgue just as the first silver rays of morning slid across the concrete walls, as if heralding something unusual. Her shift had barely begun, but within minutes everything around her transformed into a scene worthy of a dramatic film. An ambulance pulled up in front of the building; its siren abruptly fell silent, as if nature itself had frozen in anticipation. And then, as if by magic, a wedding procession appeared behind it: pristine white limousines adorned with fresh flowers and ribbons fluttering in the breeze, symbols of hope, love, and happiness. But this time, happiness had arrived right at death’s doorstep.
Tatiana’s colleagues emerged from the morgue as if drawn by the spectacle. No one could believe what was happening: a wedding in a morgue wasn’t just strange, it belonged to the realm of fantasy, almost a mystical event. The air hung heavy with silence, thick with anxiety and bewilderment. People whispered, pointed, and some even pulled out their phones to capture the absurd moment. The shift change was underway, so a crowd had gathered outside: nurses, orderlies, pathologists, all in identical white coats, like ghosts watching life invade the realm of the dead.
Tatiana kept to herself. She leaned against the wall, slightly in shadow, as if afraid of being noticed. She hadn’t started this job recently and hadn’t received any friendly smiles or warm greetings behind her back. Her colleagues glanced at her, exchanged looks, but said little. Yet everyone knew—she had been in prison. No one said it out loud or asked directly, but whispers drifted through the corridors like fog: “She’s a murderer,” “She did time for her husband,” “She was in prison for homicide; now she scrubs floors.” These words hung in the air like heavy raindrops before a storm.
Tatiana wasn’t seeking the spotlight. She just wanted to survive. To break with the past and start over. But her past wasn’t just dark: it was filled with pain, loneliness, and cruelty. She spent six years in prison, serving a seven-year sentence for killing her husband. Not for robbery, not for fraud, but for the desperate act of grabbing a knife to defend herself in a moment of extreme terror.
Their marriage lasted barely a year. The wedding was beautiful, like a fairytale: white dress, smiles, champagne, toasts. But on the second day after the ceremony, the husband’s smiling mask slipped. He became a beast—rude, cruel, merciless. Tatiana was an orphan, raised in a boarding school; she had no family, no one by her side. Every day became torture. Beatings, humiliations, fear: that was her daily reality. And one day, when he raised his hand to her again, her mind broke. The knife flashed in her hand, and it was all over.
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The trial was harsh. The husband’s numerous and influential relatives demanded a severe punishment. But the judge—an elderly woman with piercing eyes and a weary voice—told the court:
“This is not why someone is sent to prison. This is why we thank you. The world is cleaner.”
Tatiana received a seven-year sentence. Six years later—parole. But the world behind bars proved simpler than the one outside. No one wanted to hire an ex-convict. Not in cafes, not in shops, not even as a cleaner. All doors were closed. And only by chance, as she passed the morgue, she saw a notice: “Standard-bearer needed. No experience required. Above-average salary.” Her heart sank. It was an opportunity. She went, told her story honestly, expecting rejection. But they hired her. No further explanation, no trial.